g!p biker!megan x fem!reader
summary. Your useless tire just had to puncture in the middle of a dark road. Lucky for you, a sexy biker is passing by and comes to your aid.
content. g!p megan, p in v, humiliation, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk,
You spat the words out with anger. Your hands, still trembling with frustration, were holding the manual that supposedly explained how to change a tire.
It was 11 pm on a road in the middle of nowhere. A stupid pothole you didn't see had punctured your car's rear tire. You were kneeling next to the flat tire, and you could feel the asphalt's dampness starting to seep through the fabric of your jeans.
You had everything you needed: the jack, the lug wrench, and the spare tire. But you were missing the most important thing: knowing how to use any of it.
Fear came first, like a small thought settling in your chest. You looked one way. Nothing. You looked the other way. Nothing. Just the empty road stretching out until it disappeared into the darkness, the trees on the sides barely moving with a breeze that was starting to turn cold.
You sat on the rear fender of your car and let your head fall into your hands. The tears didn't come. Not yet. You were too angry to cry, too frustrated.
That's when you heard the engine.
It wasn't the sound of a car. It was deeper, rougher â a vibration you felt in your chest before your ears registered it. You looked up. At the end of the straightaway, a dark spot grew in size, accompanied by a single headlight.
The roar grew more intense as it approached. The rider wore a heavy leather jacket. High work boots, the kind with steel toes and muddy laces. Short-fingered gloves. A full-face helmet with a dark visor that hid any features.
The motorcycle slowed down as it passed your car. For a second you thought it was going to keep going. But no. The bike stopped a few meters ahead; the exhaust coughed once and then it turned around. The rider handled it with a cocky smoothness and parked it facing your car, the headlight still on pointing directly at you.
The rider put the bike on its kickstand and got off slowly. She took off her gloves finger by finger. And then, only then, she turned toward you.
"Looks like you've got problems, princess."
You didn't know her. You'd never seen her before in your life. But you already hated her. For the way she said "princess," like you were a lost little girl in a mall. For the arrogance in her shoulders, in the way she stood, in her smug smile.
"Excuse me?" You jumped off the fender as if propelled by a spring. Your feet hit the asphalt hard. Fear dissolved into anger, a hot anger that rose up your chest and settled in your throat. "Who the fuck do you think you are to call me that?"
The stranger tilted her head, barely. A minimal gesture, but one that radiated a confidence that drove you crazy. She brought her hands to her helmet. Unclasped it with a sharp movement. Lifted it off.
And all the air left your lungs.
She wasn't just attractive. She was overwhelmingly beautiful, the kind of beauty that pulls sighs out of you and makes it impossible to look away.
She stood there, the helmet dangling from one hand, the wind playing with her hair. And that smile, that damn smile, didn't go away.
"I'm Megan," she said, her voice sounding different now that you could see her face, softer but just as confident. "And I came to save your ass, from the looks of it."
"I don't need saving," you spat, crossing your arms tightly, as if that could protect you from the way she was looking at you. Your fingers dug into your own arms.
"Sure," she laughed. The laugh was deep, warm, and echoed on the empty road like something out of place. "So, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and change the tire, mhm?"
Megan raised an eyebrow, and her eyes ran over you from head to toe: your loose jeans but tight on your ass, your small waist peeking out from under your baby tee. She stopped for a second on your chest, where your nipples were slightly visible through the fabric from the cold â of course she stopped there, God â then on the curve of your neck, your tan, and finally on your eyes.
"What are you staring at, freak?"
She took a step closer. Then another. Her leather jacket creaked with the movement, and the perfume she left in her wake was woody, with something like tobacco and leather, completely different from what you expected from someone who looked like she stepped out of a movie.
"Stop acting so proud and let me see," she said, her voice dropping an octave, becoming more intimate. Then she moved away again, crouching down next to the tire. Her fingers ran over the punctured rubber. "Damn, how did you even get a puncture like this?" she said without looking at you. She grabbed the lug wrench, inspected it, set it aside. She picked up the jack, turned a lever, checked something your inexperienced eyes couldn't see. "No one ever comes down this road, princess."
"Stop calling me princess."
She looked up. Those black eyes pierced you from below, and you felt naked, exposed, as if she could see right through you.
"Why? Does it bother you?"
She smiled. "That's why I'm not going to stop."
"Are you going to help me or are you just going to stand there watching?" you asked, the challenge in your voice a shield, a last line of defense.
"I thought you knew how to do it." The blood rushed to your face. The heat burned your cheeks, your ears, your chest. Your pride shattered into a thousand pieces.
"Yeah, I do," you lied, your voice coming out sharper than you meant it to. "But I don't want to get my clothes dirty."
The silence stretched. Megan looked at you. And even knowing it was a lie, she grabbed the lug wrench and started working. You watched her loosen the lug nuts on the flat tire. A small bead of sweat ran down her forehead, and you couldn't help but squeeze your thighs together.
She worked fast. She was good at this. She jacked up the car in less time than it had taken you to read the instructions. Pulled off the flat tire with a sharp tug. Put on the spare.
When she was done, she lowered the car, put the tools away, picked up the flat tire, and tossed it into your trunk like it weighed nothing. She wiped her hands on her jeans, leaving black grease stains on the worn fabric.
"Thanks," you said, the word coming out small, insufficient.
Megan looked at you. Her eyes dropped to your lips, went back to your eyes, dropped again. The silence filled with tension. You could feel your breath slowly catching.
She took another step closer. Now she was so close you could see the pores of her skin, a tiny scar on her right eyebrow, the shine of her lips chapped by the road wind.
"How much do you want?" you asked, your hand instinctively going to the wallet in your back pocket.
Megan shook her head with a small laugh.
"I don't want money, princess."
The answer didn't come with words. It came with the heat of her body pressing against yours, with the leather of her jacket brushing your bare arms, with a hand on your neck and lips that took over yours before you could even think about pulling away.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was hungry, desperate, as if she'd been holding something back since she got off the bike. Her tongue bit your lower lip, sucked it, and a moan escaped your throat before you could swallow it.
You didn't push her away.
Your hands went up to the leather of her jacket, gripped her shoulders, and you kissed her back with the same intensity. Her fingers tangled in your hair, pulled gently, and another moan came from somewhere you didn't know existed.
"That's my payment," Megan said, her voice hoarse, her chest rising and falling fast. "You are the payment."
She didn't give you time to say anything. She'd already turned you around like you weighed nothing. Your hands found the bike's gas tank, palms flat against the cold metal, and Megan pressed against your back before you could complain. Her leather jacket creaked against your shirt.
Her hands went down your sides, slowly. They reached the waistband of your jeans. She unbuttoned them with skill. The fabric came down along with your underwear, and the cold night air hit your bare skin, making you shiver.
"MeganâŚ" you started to say.
"Shut up," she whispered against your ear. Her fingers touched you, barely, feeling how wet you already were. A deep laugh vibrated against your neck. "Look at what you've become. Just from one kiss."
You heard the sound of her belt, metal clinking, leather creaking as she positioned herself behind you. Then you felt the heat of her cock pressing against your entrance. The pressure. The size. All of it.
It wasn't a slow or careful entry. It was a firm, constant pressure that made your entire abdomen clench. You felt every inch like a hot, solid invasion, stretching you from the inside, filling you in a way that bordered on unbearable. It was enormous. Every inch of her cock seemed designed to fill you in a way you didn't know you needed.
The cry that escaped you was lost on the empty road, swallowed by the night. It wasn't a cry of pain, but it wasn't just pleasure either. It was a dirty mix of both, a complete surrender.
"Fuck," you heard Megan say behind you, her voice broken by the tension. "You're⌠fuck, you're incredibly tight."
Your fingers dug into the bike's cold tank. Knuckles white. Arms trembling. You could feel your own wetness lubricating every small movement, could hear the sticky, obscene sound of her pelvis pressing against the bottom of your ass.
Megan rested her forehead between your shoulder blades. Her hot breath went through the thin fabric of your shirt, leaving a trail of steam on your cold, goosebumped skin.
"Shh," she murmured. "Fuck, you're so tight."
Slow thrusts at first, deep, each one making you see stars. You could feel her pull out almost completely, leaving you empty for a second, only to sink back in to the hilt. The sound was obscene: a wet, rhythmic slap that mixed with your gasps and the creak of leather. Her hands squeezed your hips with a force that would surely leave bruises, and you, against all common sense, were pushing back to take more.
"Spank me," the word came out of your mouth with need before you could stop it. It was barely a whisper, but loud enough for Megan to hear.
"What? What did you say?" She pressed closer to you, bringing her ear to your mouth, wanting to hear your need clearly. "Come on, princess, don't be shy now."
You didn't have to repeat it. Megan, with an ear-to-ear grin, straightened up just enough to have the perfect view of your ass, still pushing back against her cock. Then she raised her hand in the air and brought it down hard against your cheek.
The slap rang out sharp in the empty night. An immediate burn spread across your skin, and you felt it make you clench around her involuntarily. You tried to stifle the moan as much as possible while your arms gave out and you fell against the seat, bending over even more.
"You like that, you filthy slut?" Megan asked, her voice full of fake disgust that only made you wetter.
"More⌠harder," you managed to say.
"So dirty," Megan complained, but her hand went up again and again crashed down on your already sore ass. Then another. And another. And another.
Each spank left a burning mark. You could feel your skin vibrating after each hit, how the pain transformed into a deeper, more desperate need. Saliva started to drool from the corner of your lips. Your eyes filled with tears.
You were already a mess of moans, gasps, and tears. By now you didn't really care if someone passed by. You just wanted to feel her. And fuck, you were feeling her.
You couldn't stay quiet. Moans escaped your throat without permission, mixed with her name, with insults that went nowhere. "Megan, Megan, please, don't stop, don't stop, like that, like that, fuck, like that." The words came out clumsy, slurred, almost unintelligible.
Megan was fucking you against her bike, in the middle of the empty road, and you were liking it more than any sane person would admit.
"I'm going to⌠I'm going to come," you managed to say, your voice a broken thread.
The orgasm hit you like a whip. Your vision blurred for a second. Your whole body shook completely, fingers scratching the bike's paint, mouth open in a hoarse cry that disappeared into the night. You felt your insides clench around her cock over and over, uncontrollable spasms that left you breathless. Your legs trembled nonstop. Your back arched like a bow. You drooled completely, a string of saliva falling onto the bike's tank.
When the waves passed, when your body fell even more against the seat, she was still inside you. She hadn't come yet.
She started moving again.
The moans that came out of your mouth were different now, higher-pitched, mixed with whines of overstimulation. Each thrust was too much. Too deep, too intense, too everything. Your walls were still sensitive, burning, and each brush felt like a small explosion.
"Megan," you cried. Hot tears ran down your cheeks and fell onto the bike's tank, mixing with your own saliva. "Megan, I can't take anymore."
One of your hands reached back, trying to find her hip, trying to slow her down. But she caught it. She intertwined her fingers with yours, a gesture almost tender compared to what was actually happening.
"No no no, baby," she said, and the new nickname, softer, undid you more than any insult. "You're going to take it all. That's my payment for helping you. Remember I helped you, right?"
You nodded. You couldn't speak. The words had gone somewhere between your tight throat and your sobs. But you nodded.
"I'm going to⌠take it all," you sobbed.
"Such a good girl," she muttered against your ear.
She sped up. The rhythm became frantic. The sound of her hips against your ass filled the night, a wet, constant slap that mixed with your muffled screams. You didn't know if you were crying from pleasure or from pain or from both. You just knew you didn't want it to stop. Megan kept moving, and her breathing became more erratic, closer to the edge. Her fingers squeezed your hips hard, leaving white fingertip marks on your brown skin.
It only took a few more thrusts for you to feel her cock swell inside you, hard and pulsing. Her movements became more erratic, her moans higher-pitched, and then she pulled out quickly. You heard the wet sound of her hand sliding along her own cock, rubbing uncontrollably.
She aimed toward your ass, toward your lower back, and the first hot spurt fell on your skin. You felt the warm, thick impact at the base of your spine, slowly sliding down the curve of your back. Another spurt hit your side, hot and liquid. Another splashed the leather seat of her bike. A final thread fell on your reddened ass, mixing with the marks from her spanks.
You stayed there, trembling, breathing hard, feeling her cum slide down your skin and drip onto the asphalt.
"Look what you did," Megan said. Her voice was hoarse, tired, but still with that hint of amusement. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. "Look at the mess you made on my bike."
You turned slightly to look at her. Her eyes were bright, her hair completely disheveled, her smile crooked. She still had her cock in her hand, wet and semi-erect, dripping onto her fingers.
"Clean it up," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Clean it up for me, princess."
You looked at her. Swallowed. Your pride was shattered somewhere between the asphalt and the shadows.
You knelt in front of the bike. You felt the cold, rough asphalt against your bare knees. You lowered your face to the leather seat. Your tongue tasted the salty, acidic, slightly bitter flavor. The smell of leather, of sex, of night. You closed your eyes and licked, slowly, collecting every drop, every trace. You could feel Megan's gaze burning into the back of your neck, could feel her watching you with that smug smile.
Megan stood watching you, hands on her hips, her chest still rising and falling. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.
When you finished, when the seat was as clean as you could make it, you looked up. Your face was hot, your pride in tatters, your body sore, the taste of her still on your tongue.
"Happy now?" you asked, your voice broken.
Megan looked at you for a long while. Then she crouched down, lifted your face with two fingers, and kissed you. Soft. Very different from how she had kissed you before. Her tongue barely brushed yours, and when she pulled back, her eyes were bright. You could taste your own flavor mixed with hers on her lips.
When you separated, she pressed her forehead against yours and with that stupid smug smile said:
"You wanna go for a ride?â
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